


Lover, You Should've Come Over

by lampshadecrown



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Music, Ben Solo is always sulking, Ben is so emo, F/M, Guitar players, Hurts So Good, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Musicians, On the Road Again, Pining, Rey goes to Berklee, angst angst angst, angsty af, based on a Jeff Buckley song, rey is also emo, snoke is a jerk!, songwriters, touring musician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lampshadecrown/pseuds/lampshadecrown
Summary: First Order is playing the BluesHouse Boston. It'd be the first time he'd see her in two years.Based off of the song "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley.





	1. Lover, You Should've Come Over

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Was really feeling this tune, and like the reylo trash I am, I decided to write an AU about it. Hope you like :)

#  Lover, You Should've Come Over 

#####  Highly recommend listening to [this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdXQucDOed8&list=LLSx7e_PuJZgr69pFnpdm7eA&index=5&t=0s) version of "Lover, You Should've Come Over." It's what I listened to when writing the song, and it has a rawness that the original version lacks. 

They were playing her hometown tonight. The knowledge had struck Ben with a wild desperation the second he saw it on the touring schedule. “_First Order, Live at the BluesHouse Boston 09/24_” he’d read, and all of a sudden there was no air in the room, no breath in his lungs, and an old stain on his heart reigniting, displaying an old wound he’d tried to bury. Like the way he misses his father, but not really. The proof of this one still lives, settled cozy in a Boston apartment, on scholarship at Berklee for her insane talents. Just being in the same city felt way too close for comfort. Hell, the same country was enough to keep the tremble in his hands when he played each night. It was enough to imagine her, somewhere in the crowd, eyes glazed over like the rest of them. Watching. Betting on his mistakes.

Ben wouldn’t have it. So he drank himself to death before each show and refused to make eye contact with anyone. He focused on the back center of the room, pouring his heart out but not really feeling it. But tonight, for this show- if there was anything left in her that cared for him, she would be there. For real. The idea broke him down so much that he couldn’t bear to take a sip of anything that would inebriate him. And now, an hour before the show, he sits. Heart lodged between his incisors, threatening to spill out all over the carpet. Hux eyed him warily, and then shook his head with a heavy sigh.

“Please don’t tell me I’m about to get graced with one of your tantrums.” He groaned, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in his usual dark grey trousers and a white linen button up, undone towards the top to show skin. 

“As if you’d be so lucky.” Phasma answered for him, her expression tightening as she leaned into the mirror to fix her smudged eyeliner. Ben took their banter as an opportunity to scroll through his phone and find her contact for what felt like the hundredth time. He just wanted to know for certain. Her number was nearly two years old, and could be out of service by now. Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote out a message. _Where are you tonight?_

He watched Hux down a beer, and felt his stomach lurch. He couldn’t bear to do it tonight. He wanted this show to be memorable, out of routine. He hoped it would. She must be twenty-one by now. Legal drinking age. He wonders what he missed during those two years. Does she like to go out with friends? Drink wine at home by herself? Drink to forget him the way he has to do for her? 

They were young, and stupid. At the time, she’d just turned 19, in her first year at Berklee. He was in his last, aged 22. Their futures were bright, they were together. He remembers late nights at Open Mics, basement jams, collaboration. The way her voice harmonized with his, a perfect blend of lightness and sweetness, roughness and darkness. And then Snoke, stumbling out of his theory professor’s office to shake hands with him, handing him a business card. 

“I specialize in the biggest bands in the world,” he had said. “Call me.” 

Packing his bags, asking her to come with him. Argument on the phone. “Please,” he remembers the shake in his voice. “Come with me.” He knew that Snoke wouldn’t allow it but he asked anyway. They would’ve figured it out. Her voice, cracking under strain, feeling her tears through the phone. The aching. “Just come over, please. We can talk.”

His flight to New York the next morning. No sleep, no goodbye. His father passing three months later. Ben being halfway around the world and missing the funeral. Not there to dry her tears. Not being able to dry his own. 

And here he was, two years later, haunted by things that he should’ve done and reasons he found much later, unhappy with his life and his choices. He was a fool. Snoke had simply heard his last name and saw dollar signs, and he’d been naive and signed his life away on a contract he hadn’t even read all the way through.

If you think of him, he shall appear and that was no exception tonight. Snoke, looking haggard as ever, passed through the doorway, pushing through Hux with ease. 

“Kylo,” he hated the way his stage name felt passing through Snoke’s lips. “You will perform your new song tonight. The one I heard you singing in the studio a few weeks ago.”“No. Pick another one. That song isn’t ready yet.” He didn’t know where the courage to speak came from, but he welcomed it. That song wasn’t finished. He couldn’t get through it without shattering into a million pieces. The last thing he wanted was to do it on stage. 

“This isn’t up for debate,” Snoke hissed. “It’s time to start teasing the new album. It’s also time to change your image a little. Something more emotional from us will get noticed by the media.”

“I can’t do it.” Kylo stood, fists clenched, body shaking. Snoke laughed, his dark eyes twisting, and he grabbed Ben by the jaw and clenched tight. 

“You will do as I say, or face the consequences.” after a beat, He broke from Snoke’s grip, eyes narrowing. Snoke smiled. “You guys are on in twenty. Better start moving towards the stage.” Hux and Phasma left the room, whispering to each other like children. He moved to follow, heart thumping unevenly in his chest. 

“Don’t forget, Ren.” He heard Snoke say. He looked back at his manager, only to shut the door. 

He trailed down the hallway, eyes glued to the stage door. Ignoring the curious eyes of everyone who passed him, girls that rubbed up against him as they slipped by. The door opened with a slam, and all of a sudden he was side stage, one of the engineers was handing him his guitar. Hux was in the corner twirling his drumsticks. Phasma was smoking a joint, avoiding the angered gaze of the venue owner. And he was...there. Heart beating. His guitar pulsing in his hands. 

“Don’t fuck this up for us, Ren.” Hux spat, pressing the tip of his drumstick into Ben’s chest. “Just do what Snoke says. We could really use the PR.” He smirked. “Besides, you have Grandpa to live up to anyway.”

Ben sneered, “fuck off, Armie.” the use of his old nickname made Hux frown like he’d just eaten a spider. “If you want the song to be played so bad, why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Oh, I could Ren.” Hux laughed, “But it would make you look bad.”

“In your wildest dreams.” he spoke to Hux’s retreating back. 

Hux smirked at him wickedly, before jumping up to the drum kit, crowd jeering. He raised his arms, tapping the sticks, bathed in the almost white stage light.

Ben frowned. Showtime. He let out another shaky breath before stepping into the spotlight, Phasma hot on his heels. The crowd erupted, louder and louder, overloading his senses. He walked up to the center of the stage, a sneer painted on his face. As he spoke, spit washed over the microphone.

“Whose fucking ready?”

The response was instantaneous. The crowd let out a roar, shaking the ground he stood on. 

“Alright,” He said, cocking his head to the side, making eye contact with audience members for the first time in two years. “Let’s go.”

They were halfway through the second song when he caught her eyes. Or more like, she caught his. There was a pull when she was around. He’d forgotten what it felt like. Her hair was shorter, eyes darker, looking like an angel in her white dress and black tights. Her eyes never left his, not three songs later, when he felt like he would pass out from the tension. Rey. His Rey. Did she know that he was singing all the songs to her? Did she feel it too? The agony he felt every second he’d been apart from her?

She was blank faced, but he knew that she saw him. She was aware. She also seemed to be alone, towards the back, a red cup in her hands. 

He was shocked out of his trance when Hux and Phasma left the stage, leaving him trembling, telecaster still gripped in his hands. For a second it was dead quiet, the crowd simmering, wondering what was coming next. He stood awkwardly, giving Rey one last long look before turning his attention to his guitar. There would be no introduction for this song. It didn’t need it. 

He took another shaky breath, eyes fixated on the neck of his guitar. He began to play.

_Looking out the door_  
_I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners_  
_Parading in a wake of sad relations _  
_As their shoes fill up with water _  
_Maybe I'm too young_  
_To keep good love from going wrong_  
_But tonight you're on my mind so_  
_You'll never know  
_

He recalls the nights without her, nights he should’ve called. Afternoons he spent in his hotel room in the dark. His voice was stiff in his throat, but he kept going. He couldn’t bear to look at her now.

_Broken down and hungry for your love_  
_With no way to feed it_  
_Where are you tonight?_  
_Child, you know how much I need it._  
_Too young to hold on_  
_And too old to just break free and run_  
_Sometimes a man gets carried away,_  
_When he feels like he should be having his fun_  
_Much too blind to see the damage he's done_  
_Sometimes a man must awake to find that, really,_  
_He has no one_  


He closed his eyes, inclining his head upward. He felt the burn of hundreds of eyes on him. He strummed his guitar harder. 

_So I'll wait for you and I'll burn_  
_Will I ever see your sweet return,_  
_Or, will I ever learn?_  
_Lover, you should've come over_  
_'Cause it's not too late._  


His eyes stung, and he blinked away his anguish. Here he was, spilling his longing and desire onto the dirty stage floor for her to recognize. 

_Lonely is the room the bed is made_  
_The open window lets the rain in_  
_Burning in the corner is the only one_  
_Who dreams he had you with him_  
_My body turns and yearns for a sleep_  
_That won't ever come_  


_It's never over_

He raised his voice._ Louder!_ His thoughts demanded. _Louder!_

_My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder_  
_It’s never over_  
_All my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her_  
_It’s never over_  
_All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter_  


Ben looked up, eyes frantically zoning in on her petite form in the back. She looked at him with both anguish and anger, fist clenched around her cup, tears painting her cheeks like watercolors. 

_It's never over_  
_ She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever _  


The room was completely silent. He could hear his heart thumping through his ears. He could hear the sounds of their breathing.

_Well maybe I’m just too young_  
_To keep good love from going wrong_  
_Oh lover, _  
_You should’ve come over _  
_When I feel too young to hold on_  
_And I’m much too old to break free and run_  
_Too deaf, dumb and blind to see _  
_The damage I’ve done_  
_Sweet lover, you should’ve come over_  
_Lover, I’ve waited for you_  
_Lover, lover, lover_  
_Lover, lover, lover_  


_Lover, you should’ve come over_  
_'Cause it’s not too late_

His guitar faded out, the last chord resonating through the space with an eerie tone. The crowd was silent for a few moments, basking in the emotional vulnerability that was on display by the once stoic Kylo Ren. He watched them watch him, and deftly ran his fingers through his hair. He watched Rey turn and walk out of the room. He wanted to shout something, anything to make her stay, but instead he just watched, knees buckling. 

He hit the stage with a thump, and the crowd erupted into applause. Flashing of cameras and stage lights blinded his vision. His knees stung from the fall. Kylo looked at the guitar in his hands, feeling strangely numb. It was his father’s- given to him when he had first began playing. Back when his uncle taught him everything he knew. 

He lifted the instrument over his head, black strands of hair falling over his face. It hit the stage with a loud and harrowing crack, the neck splitting from the body and putting a large groove into the stage floor. 

Everything was silent. He couldn’t move, tears stinging his eyelids, thoughts racing through his brain. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Snoke looked down at him, eyes narrowed, a smirk over his features. He reached out his hand and Kylo took it. He walked off the stage, leaving the guitar behind. He wouldn’t play it anymore. 


	2. Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's the Second excerpt, which will finish off this two-shot. It's based off of "Night Shift" by Lucy Dacus, which gives me all the emotions. Enjoy!

#  Night Shift 

** This chapter is based off of the song "Night Shift" by Lucy Dacus. Listen to it ** [ here. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WDZdT04ls4)

Two weeks later, he quits the band. Snoke is screaming, Hux has his teeth bared, and Phasma looks at him curiously, as if she knew all along. It was a strange numbness that washed over his senses afterwards; something akin to peace. For the first time, he felt like he might be able to find his. 

The media had eaten up his little stunt at the Blueshouse Boston. It had been all over every front page, on every news broadcast. His mother had called him- twice– which never happens. And following her was an endless stream of reporters and journalists begging for him to sit down for an interview. He declined them all. Ben decided he wanted to go out silent. 

And now he sits on the sidewalk in front of her favorite bar spot in Boston, saying his prayers. He shoved his hands in his pockets, sinking as low as he could towards the curb. Should he go inside? Should he leave? He fumbled around his jeans to grab his cigarettes. He lit up with shaky fingers, shielding the lighter from the cold air. Ben inhaled deeply, running his fingers through his wind tangled hair. 

“Ben Solo, you better just be out front for a smoke break. You know there would be a scene if you stepped into my bar.” He twists on the pavement to see Maz Katana, just as short and witty as he remembered, her arms crossed over her chest. He takes another drag, assessing the situation.

“I’ll leave, “ He responds hoarsely. “You just can’t tell Rey I was here.”

She shook her head, “You know I can’t do that.”

There’s a brief silence, and then he tears himself from the curb, standing fast. “Well why not?” Anger swells in his chest, bubbling up his throat.

“Because,” Maz sighs. “Give me one of those.” She points to his cigarette and he fumbles in his coat pocket for the pack. He hands one to her, and flicks the lighter on. She leans into the flame, blowing a puff of smoke in his face as she exhales. She then sits where he just was, on the curb. He returns beside her, dwarfing her frame with his own. They sit in silence for a few moments, Maz puffing her cigarette, listening to the cars roll by.

“She’s been waiting for this night, you know.” Maz is looking at something across the street, in a daze. “The night that you’d stumble into the bar again.” He perks up, gazing over at her. The surprise must’ve been evident on his face, because she shoots him a wry smile. “Even though she acts the opposite, that girl has never given up hope that you’d come back around. Still plays our open mic every week.” She takes another drag, drawing more breath inward. “Still aches for you to appear before her like a magic trick.”

Ben crushes his cigarette under his boot, and folds his hands together. He regards Maz quietly, trying to hold on to her words. If there was one thing he couldn’t fuck up, this was it. 

The breeze ruffles his hair and blows Maz’s smoke in his face. His eyes water.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks brokenly, hunching forward toward the pavement. He feels his heart pounding for what feels like the first time in weeks. 

Maz eyes him, and flicks her cigarette somewhere into the cool night. “That’s not up to me. But whatever you decide Solo, this is it. No turning back. You can’t mess with that girl’s feelings anymore.” She stands. “It’s time for you to choose.” 

Ben blinks, looking up at her. She turns and walks back into her bar, the door swinging shut behind her. Ben swallows hard, and follows.

The bar is how he remembered, with low lighting and and an Elvis Presley figurine by the door. Maz always joked that in another life, her and the King of Rock were meant to be. Ben hadn’t bought into it. He practically grew up here, with his father and his uncle, Chewie. He remembers sitting at the bar with an order of french fries at five years old, listening to his dad tell war stories. He hadn’t been in the bar since his father’s passing, for obvious reasons, but also because Rey had started frequenting the open mic Maz held every Tuesday night. She was easily the best act, and Ben used to go watch her all the time. And then he joined First Order, and his whole life went to shit.

He takes a seat at the bar toward the back of the room, with a decent view of the little stage in the opposite corner. He orders his usual, and waits. He can hear the pounding in his ears over the sound of the bar radio. His listens to it fade out, signifying the beginning of a performance. 

She walks out, and the breath leaves his lungs. Standing steady with her old Martin guitar that she bought from Goodwill, she looks like a poster child for indie folk music. A long black dress lays neatly over her figure. Her thick soled Doc Martens peek out from under the hem. Her hair was in a braid that swept over her shoulder, swaying as she adjusted her guitar strap, which was an old but sturdy shoelace. 

God, when did she become such a woman? The girl he had left behind was not like this- the girl was shy, always covered in dirt and grease, insecure and uncertain. The woman before him was none of those things- she was poised, confident, and graceful. 

“Hi there,” She nodded at the small crowd, her voice sounding like church bells. “I’m Rey. I’m going to play a song for you tonight.” It seemed that she hadn’t noticed him. He took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her form. 

She cleared her throat, sounding shakier than before. “This song is called Night Shift,” she strummed her guitar. “I wrote it two weeks ago.” Ben took a deep breath in, closing his eyes, bracing himself for the haunting sound of her voice. Two weeks ago she had been in the crowd at his show.

She began to play, slowly. 

_The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit_  
_I had a coughing fit_  
_I mistakenly called them by your name_  
_I was let down; it wasn’t the same_

_I’m doing fine_  
_Trying to derail my one track mind_  
_Regaining my self worth in record time_  
_But I can’t help but think of your other_  
_In the bed that was mine_

She was raw, like fire. Her voice scraped off of the walls of the bar and permeated his senses. He was drowning in her emotional performance, burying himself in the desperate sadness of her words. 

_Am I a masochist?_  
_Resisting urges to punch you in the teeth_  
_Call you a bitch and leave_  
_Why did I come here? _  
_To sit and watch you stare at your feet?_  
_What was the plan; Absolve your guilt and shake hands?_

_I feel no need to forgive_  
_But I might as well_  
_But let me kiss your lips_  
_So I know how it felt_  
_Pay for my coffee and leave before the sun goes down_  
_Walk for hours in the dark, feeling all hell_

He wonders if she knows he’s there, because her voice shakes, and her hands stumble. But there’s a beauty to it, something he hasn’t seen in a long time. It’s real.

_Don’t hold your breath_  
_Forget you ever saw me at my best_  
_You don’t deserve what you don’t respect_  
_Don’t deserve what you say you love and then neglect_  
_Now bite your tongue_  
_It’s too dangerous to fall so young_  
_Take back what you said_  
_Can’t lose what you never had_

_I feel no need to forgive_  
_But I might as well_  
_But let me kiss your lips_  
_So I know how it felt_  
_Pay for my coffee and leave before the sun goes down_  
_Walk for hours in the dark, feeling all hell_

She looks up, out into the crowd, projecting for the first time throughout the song. Her eyes lift and scan the back of the bar, catching on him, leaving and then coming back. She’s singing to him now, and she isn’t afraid. She holds her ground, dark eyes locking with his. 

_You’ve got a nine to five_  
_So I’ll take the night shift_  
_And I'll never see you again_  
_If I can help it_  
_In five years I hope the songs feel like covers_  
_Dedicated to new lovers_

_You’ve got a nine to five_  
_So I’ll take the night shift_  
_And I'll never see you again_  
_If I can help it_  
_In five years I hope the songs feel like covers_  
_Dedicated to new lovers_

She sings out one last verse, finally ducking her head away from him. She mutters a small thank you into the microphone, and the applause is instant. Everyone in the bar is clapping and smiling. Ben leans back on his stool, stunned. He makes eye contact with Maz, who smirks at him knowingly. Rey moves off of the small stage, smiling at the people who swarm around to greet her. There’s an energy coursing in his veins that he hasn’t felt in years. His cheeks heat up, and he climbs off of the stool, abandoning his drink.

He walks toward her with slow, determined steps.

She’s talking to a shaggy haired man in a brown coat when he reaches her. He stands close, close enough for both of them to pause their conversation to look at him. Rey regards him cooly, and turns back to her friend. 

“I’ll talk to you later, Poe. “ Her friend, Poe, eyes him skeptically before nodding at her, returning to the bar. She clears her throat, looking back at him. 

Suddenly his chest feels like a hot air balloon, and _god_ his hands must be shaking at his sides, but he pushes his anxiety down, clearing his throat and settling his jaw. 

“Rey…” He begins, his eyes trained on hers. She shakes her head, a sad smile gracing her features. 

“I heard about First Order,” She says, unnervingly calm. “It’s about time.”

“Yea, “ He answers, a small bout of confidence growing within him. “I’ve wasted too much time with them. Time that I can’t get back.”

“It’s made you who you are though,” Rey looks at him knowingly. “There is value in mistakes.”

He looks at her strangely, realizing how much she’d grown in the two years they were apart. 

“I guess,” he pauses, taking a deep breath “Look Rey... I know how much I hurt you, and I’m not asking for you to forget about that, or let it slide,” he clears his throat. “But I want to say that I’m sorry. I’ve never been so sorry about anything in my whole life. I loved you- I love you now. I was lost these past few years- twisted up in whatever Snoke wanted me to believe. I knew I was hurting everyone around me, and I knew I was hurting you. But at the time, It wasn’t enough to change anything. I was convinced that you’d be better off without me. I still am. “

He stepped back. “But I’m not better off without you. I wanted you to know that.”

He really looks at her in this moment. All sounds of the bar are drowned out, and all he can see is her, trying her hardest to blink back tears, staring back at him with a frustrated expression. Her fingers twist against the neck of her guitar.

“I’m not asking you to take me back; I’d never pressure you into trying to save me. I need to fix things on my own, but…” He closes his eyes. “Can we try to be friends? Can we start over?” 

A deep breath leaves his lungs. He gazes down to see her looking at him, weighing her options in her head. 

“Please,” He adds, for emphasis. Before he can think twice, he’s reaching out a hand, a last desperate attempt at connecting with her. 

Rey looks at him for what feels like an eternity. His heartbeat is sharp in his ears. 

She sighs, lifting her hand. It moves to lightly rest against his, skin brushing for the first time in what feels like forever. He resists the urge to rub his thumb across her knuckles. 

“Okay,” she says. “I believe in you.” 

The words are more compelling than any love song he’s ever heard. He grips her hand tighter, and they stand stagnant in the middle of the bar, noise crackling around them, the lights low and warm. They stand there for what feels like an eternity.

It’s a sign of a new beginning. He’s sure he’ll do better this time around.


End file.
